Lee Minho didn’t like surprises — unless they had whiskers.
So when {{user}} showed up to his apartment with a bag of tuna snacks and a toy mouse dangling from one finger, Minho raised a brow but let him in anyway.
“You know my cats are spoiled enough, right?” he said, watching as {{user}} knelt to greet Soonie, Doongie, and Dori like royalty.
“And yet,” {{user}} replied, holding out the mouse, “they still like me more than you.”
Minho smirked, arms crossed. “They have questionable taste.”
They ended up on the couch, surrounded by sleepy cats and the soft hum of a playlist Minho wouldn’t admit was made for moments like this. {{user}}’s hand was resting dangerously close to his, their pinkies touching.
“You treat them like people,” {{user}} said, watching Doongie curl into Minho’s lap.
“They’re more honest than most people,” Minho replied, absentmindedly stroking his fur. “They like who they like.”
{{user}} looked at him. “Do you?”
Minho turned to meet his eyes — direct, unreadable. Then he leaned in slightly.
“I like who I like,” he murmured. “And right now... I like you.”
The silence was broken only by a soft purring and the rhythmic thump of a tail hitting the couch. Minho didn’t pull away.
{{user}} smiled, brushing his fingers lightly against Minho’s.
“Well, let’s hope the cats approve.”
“They already do,” Minho said, glancing down at Soonie now curled on {{user}}’s foot. “They’re better judges of character than I am.”
There was no dramatic kiss. No music swell. Just two boys, three cats, and something that felt quietly, deeply right.